


Caesar's Wife

by Thimblerig



Series: Misery Theatre [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Implied relationship, Canon-Typical Racial Bigotry and Violence, Implied/Referenced Racial Bigotry and Violence, Kink Meme, Not A Fix-It, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"I cannot believe you slept with the Queen," hissed Athos.</em> </p><p>  <em>"I didn't sleep with her," said Aramis, somewhat blankly, still fastening the toggles of his leather coat.  "Well, technically yes, but -"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Old kink meme fill. Looking it over I think it stands on its own well enough. I hope you enjoy.

"I cannot believe you slept with the Queen," hissed Athos.

"I didn't sleep with her," said Aramis, somewhat blankly, still fastening the toggles of his leather coat. "Well, technically yes, but -"

"You will get yourself hanged for this. And I also, for allowing it happen."

"She was shaking out of her skin. What was I supposed to do, let her shiver? That isn't very chivalrous, brother."

"It is more chivalrous than f-, than f-" Athos took a breath and tried again. "Than interfering with the royal succession."

"I didn't interfere," said Aramis crisply, running fingers over his gear - belt, pistols, sword, case of pre-measured shot... "Two lost children holding each other against the night, it was so sweet your teeth would ache."

Athos flattened his mouth.

"I am quite capable of laying with someone without 'f- f-', Athos."

"That time outside of Tours, hiding in the ditch, when you whispered sweet nothings in -"

"- your pink and shell-like -"

"- ear. That."

"One dream is not a seduction, brother. Trust me, I understand these things. And Poitiers, Le Havre, last week... hundreds of times we've shared a blanket - when will you let that one time go?"

 _"I was trying to sleep!_ And that isn't even the point!"

Aramis wiped his hand across his face. In the bleak light of morning, yes, last night was starting to look very unwise. But last night was... they'd been almost drunk, the two of them, with fatigue and loneliness and worry. He had found his Isabelle, and she'd left him, and left again very finally; Anne - _Anna_ \- had wondered very seriously who was trying to kill her _this_ time, and who else would die of the attempt. The light of the candles had made the bare convent room lily-rich, and it had been so very easy to hold each other, to cling to the steady beat of another's heart... Words had been said, then, that could not be unsaid.

But! Bright side! They'd probably all be dead before the sun brought down the day! And they had work to do. Aramis let his shoulders sag and nodded to his brother, who had the right of it. 

Then, because Athos' lack of faith in him had _hurt_ , he added, "Yes, my flower."


	2. Chapter 2

He did not know if the hand on his shoulder was to reassure or to hold him down. He was not sure if Athos knew, either. So he sat in the chair in Treville's quarters as his brothers gathered around, waiting to hear them out. Their Captain sat in his own chair, hands on knees, bowed shoulders already braced for whatever new weight would come. And beside him Athos took a deep breath and explained about Rochefort's suspicions, his... insinuations.

"He's fishing," said Aramis flatly. "The dates almost match but I never slept with the Queen. Well, technically -"

"They are close enough," said Athos, wincing.

"There were two of us at the convent. He could have picked either of us as the target," protested Aramis.

"But Athos don't give her the Stare," said Porthos. "Or follow her around with his eyes. Or trail after her little mite." His eyes were very sad, and very kind.

"Wait wait wait," said D'Artagnan, tugging his earlobe. "You're saying you're _not_ the Dauphin's father?" Aramis glared at him and he lifted both hands apologetically. "Sorry, I just assumed. Then who is?"

"Presumably, Louis. If he could fit in some time between tupping Athos' wife, that is," Aramis added coolly.

"Language," said Treville.

"Men have kept mistresses before," said Aramis, "without humiliating their wives. Anna does not deserve that."

"Aramis. Don't." Athos' hand tightened on his shoulder. "Don't use her name like that. She is Caesar's Wife. Not just above reproach, but above the appearance of it also." And Aramis knew that, he _knew_ it. He dropped his head. 

"You cannot use her name so familiarly, you are not her husband, or her brother. It just makes it look worse." And that was just... too much.

"I _AM_ HER BROTHER!!!" Aramis roared.


	3. Chapter 3

"I _AM_ HER BROTHER!!!"

Aramis clapped a hand over his mouth like a guilty child. "Please," he said at last, "please tell me you do not have thin walls or sharp-eared neighbours."

Treville levered himself up from his chair and walked to the wall behind Aramis. He looked very old, all of a sudden. "Three feet thick," he said, and rapped his knuckles on the thick plaster - there was only a muffled thud from it. 

He sat back down. "Explain," he said.

Aramis rapped his chest with his knuckles. "Rene d'Herblay... de Austria. Your very humble servant."

"Son of a..." breathed Porthos. Aramis looked away.

"Royal bastards can be useful," he continued. "If they are raised to be so; if they keep to their place at the table. After my mama fell from grace, I was still allowed an education, and a home in the Spanish Court. I only had to forget any _inconvenient_ connections and never, ever, cross the lines."

He drummed fingers on his knee. "Anna was a very sweet child." He held up a hand about waist-height and thought of her back then, a chubby little thing labouring under too many layers of skirt and bodice. "When I was allowed to see the real family I used to fetch toys for her, and pick her up when she tripped and fell. She called me her gallant caballero." He touched fingers to the corner of his jaw and smiled ruefully. "It was something I was allowed to have."

Athos' hand tightened on his shoulder again. Aramis leaned into it.

"Then my mama came back," said Aramis brightly. "And she - we -" he waved a hand over the mayhem of that time and summed up, "and we ended up in France, living in bucolic bliss with a brewer of brandy. And we all were very happy. But I had to leave little Anna behind; there just wasn't any way." He frowned. "And she grew in beauty and grace and virtue and in time was sold off like any other good little Royal girl.

"I left home when I was, oh, sixteen or so," he continued. "There was trouble; it was my fault; I had to leave. I joined the army when I was tall enough to impress a recruiter, and the rest of that you know."

"French, not Spanish."

He rolled his eyes. "I have French citizenship papers. The father I liked was French. French poetry is more entertaining. Pick a reason: I'm a Frenchman." 

He went on, eyes distant, "I think she started to remember me during that business with Vadim." He touched fingers to his jaw again, and smiled. "She called me her Rene at the convent. I swore again to protect her, for what little that's worth.

"It is possible to love someone truly," he mused, "to simply... want them to be as happy as they can be, and to strive to make that happen."

"Is that what you tell the governess?" asked d'Artagnan, voice carefully light. They all looked at him. He shrugged. "Constance saw something that one time. Marguerite doesn't seem your usual type." Aramis flinched.

Porthos' mouth twisted unhappily.

"On the street they're calling Anna the Spanish - they're calling her unkind things and lynching Spanish _shoe-makers_. Half her ladies are spying on her, the security around her child is a _joke_ , and I - I've only been making things worse.

"Telling the truth is impossible. If Louis realised the King of Spain's brother had been carrying his dispatches, guarding his private moments, observing his affairs..." Already he can see Treville's eyes grow thoughtful, telling over old missions, old security leaks, turning the pieces around to see if they might match. "Yes, exactly so. And if my own brothers couldn't take my word for it..."

Aramis shut his eyes.

"I don't know what to do."

_fini_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt:
> 
> _http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/2286.html?thread=3625966#cmt3625966_
> 
> _Can someone please expand on Aramis's clearly spanish heritage._
> 
> _(I would love an AU where he and the Queen are family. What Athos walked in was cousins, or siblings drawing comfort from each other, not sex like he had assumed. No one is allowed to know about their connection)._
> 
> _"Rene d'Herblay... de Austria. Your very humble servant."_ \- so I did a little research (Hellooo, Google) and "de Austria" could be used by acknowledged royal bastards of Spain at about that time-frame. Going by the career of Don Juan de Austria (16th century), 'Rene d'Herblay de Austria' might have done pretty well for himself in finances and honour - and yet, always a little bit apart from the legitimate children. (One article says that at state occasions he walked behind the royal family but ahead of the grandees, for example.)
> 
> I'd say that this version of Aramis was working through some childhood abandonment issues, but I don't think there is any _through_ here...
> 
> **
> 
> I remember there was a time when I could write fics that didn't screw over Aramis one way or another. I remember it. That time existed.


End file.
